


Strangers When We Meet

by exmachinarium



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Organised Crime, Blood Kink, F/M, Injury Kink, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rough Sex, Smoking, Strangulation, Violence, minor gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-01-11 20:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18431396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmachinarium/pseuds/exmachinarium
Summary: Viren thought his day was bad when a bunch of small-time dealers tried to outsmart him. Little did he expect that this was just the start of a series of events that would reignite old flames and start new ones in unexpected places. In the end, will he still be the one pulling the strings - or will they end up wound around his neck?Aka. TDP Mafia!AU in which godfather Viren gets in a lot of trouble at his own wish.





	1. His Lordship

**Author's Note:**

> The Mafia!AU is finally a go! Wanted to have a bit more of a buffer, but since a) life happened, and b) today's Viren's birthday, let's give it a go.
> 
> Chapters will update every third day starting from 11 April, unless I hit a snag writing (hopefully not, though).

The old cannery was everything one would expect it to be: rickety tin roof wailing with each gust of wind, shards of glass from broken windows on the floor... and the stench that was bound to hover on the spot long after the structure itself was demolished. It was an insult to Viren's senses in every imaginable way and he'd love nothing more than to be done with his business and out the door. Unfortunately, the poor taste in venue extended to his "host's" sense of decorum.

"Please, don't get me wrong, your Lordship," the man in charge of the Serpentines lisped out. "As something of your equal, relatively speaking of course, I understand perfectly the needs and obligations that go hand in hand with governing such a big organisation. But please, consider that the price you're demanding in exchange for the area your organisation, pardon my rudeness, didn't invest in all that much up till now, is, objectively speaking, pretty steep."

Amateurish. Convoluted. A lame attempt at hiding disdain beneath a veneer of respect. It took a lot of effort to not scoff openly, but Viren had been around long enough to manage.

"Let's cut to the chase, shall we?" He said instead. "We don't _need_ to have this conversation. But in case we break the negotiations now, the only remaining question is, how long will it take you to get away from this city far enough to feel safe. If the answer satisfies you, I can only bid your... group farewell."

He turned to leave, bad leg already stiff from the draft. He missed Claudia's chemistry olympics finale for this pathetic display. They should be glad he let them off the hook this easily.

"Wait! I'm sorry, your Lordship! Please, reconsider-"

The spot behind Viren's ears began to pulse with an onset of migraine. If this man, this... human worm won't stop yapping, Viren will have no choice but to shut him up.

"I'm sure that with a little bit of goodwill on both sides, things can be resolved in a peaceful-"

The first smack of the cane knocked the remainder of the words from the thug's lungs. The next one had him on the ground, wheezing for breath. The ones that followed were precise, calculated, almost rhythmic in how they connected with his head, spine, the hand that tried to reach out for Viren's meticulously polished shoe. Viren wondered idly what would give out first, the man's body or his overgrown ego.

As an equal? Viren couldn't even _laugh_ at that.

He stopped disciplining the thug at the point when he could still recognise the intent behind the lashing. One of his men handed him a handkerchief to wipe the stains off the cane and he made sure that every single drop of blood was gone before addressing the rest of the group, huddled together as if awaiting further consequences of their leader's idiocy.

"Now that we have smoothed over that minor inconvenience, my associate will present you with our final arrangements. Mr. Crow, the floor is yours, whenever you're ready."

With some hesitation, the man known as Mr. Crow nodded and stepped out, drawing a large arc around the leader of the Serpentines, eyes intently fixed on the ceiling to avoid the gruesome sight. Viren left him to his devices in favour of finally stepping out into fresher air. Crow might not be used to the sight of blood and violence - the worst of his known offenses being counterfeit and dubious accounting practices - but his aptitude for numbers and creative solutions earned him Viren's approval as the treasurer of the organisation. In time, hopefully, a certain resilience to the less savoury aspects of the job would catch up with the man's other skills.

Standing out in the open, Viren itched for a cigarette. Knew he wouldn't get one. Sighed.

It had been a long day.

And judging by who was approaching him, it was bound to get a lot longer.

"What is it?"

In lieu of talking, Fixer handed him the phone. The tension in her shoulders spoke volumes: he wasn't going to like it.

A drug bust at the other end of the city. Anonymous call right before the meeting with the Serpentines. The series of short messages detailed the number of officers and the particulars of what happened. Luckily, most of Viren's men were intact and so were the wares. The only problem was a rather unusual liability.

"We have a hostage?" He asked through gritted teeth, each word cutting the cold air like a blade.

Fixer sighed and urged him to scroll down further. Knowing he's getting closer to the real source of the problem, Viren complied. And froze.

He hadn't seen that face in ages. Yet, somehow, it looked exactly the same as all those years ago. The eyes gazing at him from the ID photo carried the same spark that made the man's face seem so radiant in his... _Their_ teenage years.

In one of Viren's previous lives something must've gone horribly wrong.

Otherwise fate wouldn't punish him by re-crossing his paths with Harrow Oathes, former friend, now chief inspector of the Katolis police force.


	2. Many Happy Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harrow always had a gift for complicating things. Viren is, as always, less than pleased about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: big thanks to everyone who left kudos/commented/responded to my story over at twitter! This story is a very ambitious undertaking for yours truly and it's all the support that you dish out that keeps me going.
> 
> This chapter is the first full-sized chapter in the story, and finally lets me flex my writing muscles. Also, if you're attentive, you might just spot someone familiar in the background. Enjoy!

The drive to the safehouse was silent. Fixer sat at the wheel, deftly guiding them through traffic. Viren sat in the back, looking at the city behind the window without actually seeing it.

Why couldn't they have meet again in any other circumstances? Soren's fencing match, on the rare occasion when Viren attended. Random run-in at the metro station. Hell, why couldn't Harrow be the one to take Viren's statement about the car crash after his leg got injured? He felt like demanding answers from some higher force, but all that answered him was the deafening silence of the car.

It continued to linger inside the building, as they rode up to the safehouse floor. Nobody disturbed them on the way; out  of the few inhabitants of the complex, half was Viren's operatives, the other half people scared into knowing better. None of them could possibly alert the police, he mused idly as the numbers on the elevator lit up one after another, it had to be an outside job. Going through a list of hypothetical possibilities grounded Viren's mind, helped him focus on the task ahead. Calling it a slippery situation would be a major understatement, but he didn't get to where he was now by avoiding the slightest hint of an obstacle.

"Pardon the disruption, your Lordship, but it _was_ an emergency... You look tired, sir."

Viren waved off the janitor's concerned remark and asked about the prisoner instead.

"Why did you think it was a good idea to keep him in the first place?"

"It was either that or shooting him, sir," the janitor mussed his short, red hair in embarrassment, "and seeing who the guy _is_... Well, that was pretty much a no-go."

The explanation, however lacking, finally helped Viren see the whole issue with clarity. Harrow might've been his old... friend, but right now he was a hazard to Viren's organisation. It was his responsibility to take matters in stride.

"Where is he now?"

"Clean room; seemed like a neat solution, just in case."

Viren sighed at the wording and had Fixer move the safehouse crew to the outer perimeter of the building. The fewer witnesses, the better.

The clean room in this particular outpost was basically a repurposed bathroom; the hydraulics were still there, but all other objects were removed, creating an open, easy to clean space. The new addition to the decor was sat, tied and blindfolded, on a chair dragged in from the kitchen. Even in this position, he radiated a certain presence; Viren had to resist placing his hand against the smoked glass, worried that Fixer might catch onto his inner turmoil. If she had done so anyway, she said nothing and instead asked about Viren's plan of action.

It all seemed to boil down to two options, really. Option one, kill Harrow. In a way his death was inevitable the moment he stepped through the door as a police officer. Still, the disappearance of a high-rank member of the force would be thoroughly investigated, even if all traces led to the less savoury parts of the city. Viren's organisation had contingency measures for this sort of scenario, but both Viren and Fixer were reluctant to put them in place unless it was strictly necessary. However dire their current situation was, it still didn't come close to a real, large-scale emergency. Option two - letting Harrow go – was obviously out of the question.

There was, however, an "option three". One that Viren knew would never work.

One that Fixer didn't know wouldn't.

*******

The scraping of the chair on tiles made Viren's ears bleed. He positioned himself between the security glass and Harrow - close enough to hide their conversation, far enough to not seem overly familiar. All the time he could feel Fixer's eyes on the back of his neck. The moment the blindfold came off Harrow's eyes, the game would begin.

Viren steeled himself and ripped it off in one swift motion.

Harrow blinked furiously, instantly dazed by the light reflecting off the white tiles. As his vision gradually came back, Viren could observe Harrow's eyes refocusing on him, slowly, painfully trying to piece together the silhouette he saw in front of himself. The man tried to say something, but his voice came out as an illegible rasp. Viren gave him a moment to sort it out.

"V-Viren...?"

Not what he expected to hear. Certainly not with a shade of relief under all the confusion. It... complicated things, but Viren didn't let it show. Instead, he remained silent and let the man in front of him vent freely.

"But how... All I remember is entering the building, going to the location we had from our contact and... We were ambushed? No, they were surprised, just prepared better than we assumed. Someone... Someone must've knocked me over and when I finally came to, I see you?" Harrow hesitated, tiny fragments of the puzzle slowly clicking into place inside his mind. "But what are _you_ doing here? You're not a rescue team, are you? But then how did you know I was in trouble and how did you know about this place. Unless-"

Ah, yes, there it was. Realisation reared its ugly head and the look in Harrow's eyes shifted to alarmed disbelief. Good. Viren could work with that.

"For the record, I didn't know it was you. Not until you got yourself captured. Typical."

He sighed without even meaning to. Morbid circumstances aside, this situation was so classically _Harrow_. From the time they skipped biology, to that one memorable day when they had to run from half of the faculty for smoking weed behind the gym storage, it was always Harrow who recklessly plunged into adventure, dragging Viren along. And like in the olden days, it was now Viren's turn to save both their asses from dire consequences.

"Well, at least I'm true to my original principles. What happened to _you_?"

The clock in Viren's head was ticking. Up to this point small talk was still fine, but the sooner the "negotiations" turned heated, the better. He briefly considered revealing his plans to Harrow, but decided against it. One thing he knew would not change in a thousand years was his old friend's straightforward nature. He couldn't hold a poker face if his life depended on it. Which it did right now, incidentally. As it were, everything was up to Viren and he dearly wished the day would just end already.

"Listen," he began, avoiding saying Harrow's name out loud, "I'd love to just sit down with you and chat over tea, but there's no time for that now. You see, we're both in a bit of a... predicament."

"No shit."

This was the part of Harrow he certainly didn't miss.

"Let me put it this way: we both have certain expectations right now. You, for example, expect to walk out of here alive." He gave Harrow space to harrumph in indignation, then proceeded. "And I do want to give you that opportunity, chief inspector. I really do. But I can't just open the door and wish you a pleasant journey home." He leaned in for dramatic effect. "All things have a price in here."

Harrow recoiled as if Viren had just slapped him in the face. Up until this point he wasn't taking the situation seriously, but the steel glistening in his eyes now meant that playtime's over. Viren took in the sight: the defiant set of Harrow's jaw; his broad hands clenching into fists. He shifted ever so slightly to let Fixer catch a glimpse, just in case.

"You got to be kidding me," Harrow growled, eyes wildly searching for any signs of a bluff. Finding none. "A... bribe? Who do you take me for, some dirty cop that likes to be at the beck and call of the likes of you?!"

There was something alarmingly endearing in the fact that the man in front of him hadn't changed a bit since they were teens. Viren bottled away the reawakened fondness and reached out to grab the front of Harrow's shirt, pulling him forward, the rickety chair thrown dangerously off-balance. Their faces were so close the men were nearly bumping foreheads. Which was hopefully close enough to obscure them from the watchful eye behind the glass. Viren closed the distance even further, trying to ignore Harrow's intoxicating smell.

"Follow my lead and you will survive this," he whispered into Harrow's ear and felt a small shiver run through the officer's body. Good enough for a consent.

"What... do you want to know?"

Viren released his grip, Harrow's chair falling back with an audible thud. Viren sat back in his own, brushing his hair back, ready to present the results of his magic trick to Fixer and whoever else had joined her in watching. A small triumphant smirk stretched his lips - having Harrow on a metaphorical short leash, even a pretend one, gave him an odd sense of satisfaction.

"For starters, you can tell me about your tip, _inspector_."

Harrow made a move to pinch his nose (an old nervous habit ), got reminded that he was still tied down and grimaced.

"This would be easier with my hands free." When Viren ignored this remark, he sighed and continued.

 "It was anonymous, but whoever called was a professional. They used a voice changer and hung up at just the right moment. All that we could tell is that they're probably an adult and they're located... somewhere in this city."

Not terribly informative, but nonetheless interesting. There were several possible explanations, Viren thought, forgetting about Harrow for a moment, some of them overlapped with his previous hypotheses. A particularly prominent one was that the Serpentines weren't a band of daft street thugs, as Viren had initially assumed. Another plausible option was a challenge by one of the organisation's many enemies - nobody in their right mind would use a single point attack as anything other than a figurative gauntlet to throw down at Viren's feet. Alternatives multiplied the more he ruminated, of course, but these two were the strongest candidates. Luckily for Viren, the person able to push his little inquiry forward forward was currently within his grasp.

"Let's make it your first task then. Inform back to me whenever this mysterious caller reappears or you unearth some more information about their identity and whereabouts. Are we in agreement?"

"It's not like I have a choice, is it."

Viren could almost hear the standing ovation of the crowd as he headed for the door. Brilliant execution of the three-act structure, spotless delivery of both leads. All he had to do was get the cleaners to dump Harrow somewhere on the outskirts and let him crawl his way back home for added dramatic effect.

And yet, right before he twisted the handle, every illusion he weaved crumbled under the weight of that sweet, unflinching voice.

"So, about that tea."


	3. On A Scale From One To Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viren experiences firsthand just how much changed in Harrow's life when he wasn't looking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for all the support so far ♥
> 
> The next update will happen after Easter due to time/tech constraints... but I'll make it worth your wait. For now, enjoy the shenanigans!

That fool could've ruined _everything_.

" _I mean, you probably already know where I live."_

Had he spoken a fraction of a second later, had the door been open for as much as a hair's breadth, they'd immediately be at the mercy of Fixer and the safehouse cleaners - and in spite of the group's purpose, the result would be far from pretty.

_"Just, yeah, ditch your friends first."_

Then again, was Viren in any position to call Harrow a fool as he was standing - alone for once - at the threshold of the man's house, waiting for someone to answer the doorbell? He wasn't even sure if there _was_ anyone inside, let alone if Harrow informed whoever he shared the place with about Viren's arrival (it took a single glimmer of the band on Harrow's finger for Viren to get the picture). Hesitantly, he rang the bell again.

There was a clatter behind the door, as if someone was stumbling over their own legs on the way to the peephole. Pause. A soft scratch, then silence. Viren waited patiently. A dog? No, at this point there would be at least some barking. Whoever was at the other side of the door made extreme effort not to be noticed.

And had their cover almost immediately blown by a woman's voice coming from within the house.

"Who's at the door, Callum?"

"Uh..." The child hesitated, most likely to take another look through the peephole. "I think it's dad's guest."

"All right, I'm coming!"

More rumbling, like a quickly approaching thunderstorm, that gave Viren only enough time to take a step back before the door swung open and he was greeted by the sight of a woman, wheezing and bent almost in half as she was trying to compose herself. She raised one hand to show him that she needed a moment. Viren obliged, his gaze shifting briefly to the boy - Callum - who looked as if he'd love nothing more than to disappear in the least noticeable way. Luckily for him, his... mother, Viren assumed, managed to pull through and rose to her full height with a wide smile on her face.

"Hi, you must be Viren. I'm Sarai and this is our son, Callum- uh, trust me, you don't want to shake my hand right now," she smiled sheepishly and Viren let his hand fall limply to his side. "But anyway! Come on, come on in, I'll just wash my hands and... probably change my everything and be back with you in a second. Callum, could you please go to your dad and see if he needs any help with the dinner?"

"Dinner?" Viren cut in, causing the boy to yelp in alarm. "Have I come at the wrong time?"

"Nope, you're right _on_ time!" Harrow finally entered the scene, his front covered by a comically small, frilly apron. "Make yourself at home. Callum, why don't you help me set the table?"

  *******

 Harrow's idea of 'tea' apparently involved a homemade dinner, followed by fresh jelly tarts and maybe tea as well. From what Sarai told him between slurps of broth, Harrow took to cooking in order to better divide all the household chores.

"His noodles still arrive overcooked half the time-"

"Hey!"

"-but he's constantly improving, was what I was trying to say, Harrow."

She elbowed him in the ribs gently, then turned her attention back to Viren who was silently observing the commotion.

"But enough about the future master chef. What about you, Viren? Wife, husband, kids and/or pets? What about your job? I'd say you look like a lawyer, but then I'd know you."

The discomfort must have been painfully apparent on Viren's face, since Harrow decided to intervene.

"Honey, you promised to not overcrowd him."

"So mister chief inspector gets to have his fun during working hours, but I can't even ask a few simple questions?" She huffed and pretended to be annoyed, but her frown quickly dissolved into a smile. "Sorry, I'm just so excited to finally meet the man lurking in all of my husband's high school photos."

She was perfect. The thought hit Viren without any warning, without any prior ruminations on the subject. In this one moment he realised that Sarai - with her bubbly demeanour, quick wit and overwhelming kindness - was Harrow's perfect match. And he was sincerely happy for them both, even though a tiny, ugly speck of his mind wished all that was replaced by a dinghy flat full of smoke and discarded takeaway boxes. Viren pushed the thought away and focused on the world as it was.

"Speaking of high school," he said, probably for the first time during the evening, "how did our Philosopher King end up on the force?"

Harrow laughed at the old nickname and explained how, after meeting Sarai during a shared lecture on the philosophy of the law, he had a change of heart – in many ways. The two apparently hit it off almost immediately and Sarai managed to convince him ("That's rare." "Whose side are you on, Viren?") that if he wanted to make a real change in the world, idly sitting by and dealing with abstract ideas just wouldn't cut it. Admittedly, getting that badge was an uphill battle, but Harrow regretted none of it. _Except the part when he almost got killed by a former classmate_ goes unsaid.

At some point of the conversation Sarai realised that Viren purposefully derailed her attempts at investigation and once again demanded answers. Viren obliged this time, to a reasonable extent of course. After all, he would be the worst kind of parent if he didn't gloat, at least a little, about the achievements of his own children.

Sarai seemed pleased, but every now and then still tried to take another jab at guessing Viren's profession, going from plausible (banker), through somewhat justifiable ("You've been binge-watching the news for the past four months, you would've noticed him on screen."), to completely off the bat ("I'm flattered that you praise my taste in clothes, but I have no ties to the industry." "Did you just... make a pun?" "I did no such thing, Harrow.").

Eventually the party moved to the living room, fresh jelly tarts filling the air with a sweet scent, tea dispensed in tacky mugs with funny quotes on them. Callum, who looked very uncomfortable at the dinner table, received his share and excused himself under the guise of doing homework. Viren thought it a little surprising that a pair of such radiant, loud parents raised a child this withdrawn... but then again, some of that might've been the fault of Viren's rather intimidating presence. Be that as it may, the evening continued in a relaxed atmosphere - that is, until something on the stairs caught Viren's eye.

Initially, he took the rotund blob for a discarded backpack, maybe a toy or a deflated exercise ball. But the more he looked, the more he realised that the thing was actually _breathing_ ; its speckled body expanded and contracted all around the motionless, cone-clad head which was locked in on Viren, eyes most definitely glaring with disgust.

"Is that a... cat?" he asked nobody in particular, squinting back at the flabby offender.

"What?"

Harrow followed his gaze and snorted at what he saw. He then walked up to the stairs and gathered the protesting creature in his arms to present it for Viren's inspection. In all honesty, direct light didn't do it any favours.

"Say hi to Bait!"

" _Bait_?" Viren cocked an eyebrow.

"Don't ask. We got him from a local shelter, but as soon as he accustomed himself to the house, he developed a terrible skin condition and an allergy on top of that. We had to shave his fur off almost completely... But he pulled through, somehow."

He cooed at the... creature and rubbed its naked belly. To Viren's surprise, the glare on Bait's face was replaced by an expression of what could be described only as sheer bliss. He attempted to nuzzle Harrow's arm, or so Viren assumed, but managed to only wallop it with the plastic cone repeatedly - Harrow didn't seem to mind, though.

"Well, if Bait's here," Sarai chimed in, untangling herself from the armchair's comforter, "it means that Ezran will wake up any minute. Excuse me, gentlemen, I'll be back soon."

She gave Harrow a kiss on the cheek and ruffled Bait's head tufts inside the cone before climbing the stairs, two at a time. Harrow looked after her with the softest expression Viren had ever seen on his face.

"You're a good match." Viren commented, looking wistfully down the almost empty mug.

Harrow chuckled, setting Bait down on the floor and sitting next to Viren on the sofa. His smile faded gradually as he was trying to collect his thoughts before speaking up again.

"Viren," he said finally, and after all these years the sound of his own name in that deep, warm voice was still electrifying, "I'm glad I could see you again, I really am. But... I'm also concerned."

Viren set the empty mug on the table, straightened up and got ready for the speech he expected ever since Harrow recognized his face back in the safehouse.

"I want you to understand that right now I'm not speaking as a police officer, but as your old friend. If you..." he leaned forward, covering his mouth in exasperation. "If you ever feel like this... life is not for you anymore, or you're in over your head, I just want you to know that I'm here for you, all right? I... Both of us will do our damnest to protect you."

If not for Harrow's serious expression, Viren would've laughed. Oh, sweet, straightforward Harrow, always seeing the best in people. Always assuming that the wrongs they do are simply a result of their unfortunate circumstances. Bursting that bubble felt almost too cruel.

"Harrow. I appreciate the offer, but I must decline." He looked Harrow straight in the eye to make sure the point he was about to make would get across. "I'm not in the organisation against my will. I _created_ it. Everything I've done so far was deliberately planned and executed with my explicit permission, if not by my own hand."

He wasn't some damsel in distress that needed rescuing from the dragon. He _was_ the dragon - and he fully intended to protect his castle and his treasure from anyone who'd try to interfere. Even an old friend.

Harrow held his gaze for a moment, then looked down with a defeated sigh.

"Well, you do what's best for you."

"Likewise."

They sat in an awkward silence until Sarai returned, looking a bit tired and with a large, still wet stain on her shoulder.

"That's my cue to leave, I suppose."

Ignoring the protests, he fished the phone out of his pocket and fumbled with the screen. Grumbled. Tapped the phone on the back and tried again. Nothing.

"I'll call you a taxi," Harrow offered, but Viren declined.

"Just lend me the phone for a second, I'll call my driver." _Provided the thing is not tapped._

Harrow sent him what could come off as a glare in the right light, but still handed over his own phone, a battered old thing with very noticeable tooth (singular) marks. Viren dialed the number and made a quick job of getting a ride. After hanging up, he declined an offer of another cup of tea, explaining that the car would wait for him a couple of streets away - after such a feast a short walk was in high demand. He got dressed, thanked his hosts for the evening, promised to be in touch with Harrow, and left.

Later, in the back seat of the car, his mind drifted away, back to the times where every major life event could simply be stored in a yearbook and put on a shelf. To the balmy afternoons in the gym's supply room, smelling faintly of mould and years' worth of dust on the old, forgotten and broken training gear. To the hands that felt like sunlight slipping under his t-shirt and giddy, mischievous smiles that made the freckly face above light up like the night sky on New Year's Eve.

  *******

 The room was stuffy and smelled of well-aged mould. It used to be a school storage, then (very briefly) a backroom for a boxing club. Now it stood abandoned, collecting dust and shadows - one of which moved when the door swung open.

"Not sure how it's done on your end, but we do not take kindly to latecomers."

The person shrugged and took a seat in the spotlight. They produced a photograph from their inner pocket and slid it across the table. The shadow leaned in to inspect it, then moved back and glared at the client.

"Don't think we don't know who this is." Then, when the person didn't make a move to comment: "This will cost you extra."

The client shrugged again and produced another item from their spacious coat: a bulky brown envelope. It, too, was slid across the table in one confident move. Money was clearly not an issue.


	4. A Snake In The Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viren thought the times he had to get Harrow out of trouble were long over, but life - and strangers in sketchy diners - find a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! I'm still in the middle of writing the third act, but the update pace should not suffer for it. Fingers crossed!
> 
> Also, as usual: THANK YOU SO MUCH for all the love and comments ♥. At the moment of writing this I'm dying of migraine, so I won't be able to answer everything right away, but I'll get down to it as soon as my head allows, promised.

Calling it an obsession would be too much, Viren though. He was merely cautious. The fact that Harrow's voice in his ear made for a soothing background noise was just added bonus.

So far nobody seemed to catch a whiff of their little ploy; the tale of Viren once again working his magic and securing a valuable dirty cop made circles in the organisation, even though he explicitly told the cleaners not to spread it. Harrow's superiors gobbled up the fairy tale about a new outpost of the Triad and gave Harrow free reign over any future proceedings in this matter, not even realising it was bound to turn up nothing. In other words, everything was going according to Viren's meticulous plan.

Until one day it didn't.

"I'm not sure it's wise for the three of you to stay here." The strain in Harrow's voice immediately caught Viren's attention. He dismissed Fixer and focused fully on the conversation. "Yes, I know you want to support me, it's just that-"

Harrow was bending over backwards to explain, but Sarai wanted nothing short of clear answers - and, incidentally, so did Viren.

"We've been through this, Sarai. I... can't tell you much. Our network, yes, the one you should know absolutely nothing about, traced some Triad activity and it seems they might want to get back at me for the... whole thing. Yeah. Sorry, I know it's hardly comforting, but-"

The whole story would be entirely possible, _if_ the event in question was a run-in with the Triad. The fact that only an extremely narrow circle of people knew that was not the case rang alarm bells in Viren's head. Still, as coincidence couldn't be entirely ruled out at this stage, the prime concern was to secure Harrow's wellbeing.

Normally, the protection of key business partners of the organisation was handled by a designated cell, but this case was a bit trickier than most. If Viren wanted to play his cards right, he had to rely on someone unrelated to either him or Harrow. A professional third party that would do their job right and know when to keep their mouth shut - without the necessity to silence them permanently, if that wasn't too much to ask. Such people were generally scarce and in high demand, but Viren was fairly certain as to which strings he needed to pull.

Having no upper financial limit certainly helped.

*******

Hours of deliberating and several mugs of coffee later, Viren was still painfully empty-handed. The pool of handymen at his beck and call was substantial, but somehow he managed to find a fault in any and all of them. He was starting to understand why Fixer called him out on being "fussy" so often. How could he not be, though? The mission was a particularly fragile one even in his line of business, so lowering his expectations even a notch was absolutely out of the question.

Just when he was about to call it quits for the day, the alert on his inbox cut through the silence with a happy little chime. Viren rubbed his eyes and squinted at the incoming message's title:

_Solution to your problems_

His first reflex was to send it straight to spam, where it belonged. But then his mind caught up; this wasn't his private inbox. The system used for organisation's purposes was protected on all sides, using technology governments couldn't even begin to dream about. Something that managed to break through layers upon layers of randomly sequenced firewalls couldn't be mere mass-produced chainmail or badly translated advertisements of penis enlarging pills. This wasn't just a regular message - it was a hole in the system that should be regarded as a serious threat.

Viren weighed his options. The email was not a scheduled breach attempt, of that he was certain; the technicians had to reschedule to next week due to some "unforeseen personal circumstances". So, an external breach. The most likely scenario was hostile infiltration - someone hoped Viren's concentration would slip, he'd open the message and unleash high-tech spyware onto the organisation's inner network... or at least a cyber-bomb that would wreak havoc upon the system. Problem was, none of their competitors owned this kind of technology yet. But if that was the case, it left... who, exactly? The cursor on screen hovered over the sender address, fashionably scrambled. if Viren wanted to know anything more, there was only one way to find out.

He released the breath he didn't know he was holding and clicked the menacing title; worst case scenario, he'd uncover more flaws in the security system.

What he got instead made his pulse quicken.

_Your friend is being targeted by the Blue Moon, on commission from an unknown source. The assassination will take place in three days_ ' _time. Meet me at the Midnight Star in 2 hours to discuss further details of our cooperation._

Whoever sent it at least had enough style to choose someplace other than a filthy ruin down at the docks - although Viren couldn't say he cared much for the overly cocky tone of the message. In his mind it was reason enough to ignore it and carry on with his day. Especially that now he could feed the information he got to a more familiar, more obedient dog. Unfortunately, that would lead to Fixer catching a whiff of what he was doing and if he had to avoid seeming weak in front of one person in the world, that person was Fixer.

Viren hated feeling backed into the corner, especially when he didn't know who blocked his way out. So he kept telling himself that he was still in control all the way to the meeting place.

*******

Midnight Star used to be a moderately decent place. It may have even had its own fifteen minutes of local fame in the past. But a series of bad business decisions - and getting under the skin of the wrong people - reduced it to a mediocre diner that was barely clutching onto its last customers. This naturally translated to the place being rather private, with the owner steadfastly minding their own business regardless of the activities of the clientele. A perfect spot for a meeting of a... delicate nature.

Viren didn't know anything about the person he was supposed to meet, but apparently the other party knew him - as soon as he stepped through the door and scanned the inside of the diner, someone sitting with their back to the entrance raised their hand and seemed to beckon him closer. Viren swallowed hard and for a moment focused on the weight of the gun he kept on his person (just in case), then proceeded to the window table, trying not to stare at the other person before sitting down on the couch opposite.

The face he saw over the table wasn't familiar, but Viren didn't expect it to be. He also had no doubt that if he had ever seen it, he'd never forget it - the oblong shape, well-defined jaw and piercing eyes created a striking composition. It may have been the glow of the neon outside, but the stranger looked somewhat otherworldly.

"How may I be of service?" he asked in lieu of a greeting, his voice deeper than expected.

Before Viren managed to answer, they were interrupted by a clearly overworked waitress. The stranger cryptically ordered "more of the same". Viren went for black coffee; it was a tough day and nothing could bring him back to his senses better than a mug of disgusting black slush that was diner-brand coffee. The waitress nodded at their orders and hobbled away, probably never to be seen again.

"I'm pretty sure you don't need to ask that question," Viren continued their conversation as if the interruption never took place. "But let's say I will humour you. I need some people, very skilled in the art of killing, to be disposed of in a discreet manner. As I understand, this is a service you're willing to provide."

The stranger smiled.

"That would be correct, your Lordship."

Viren didn't even flinch at the man using his business nickname - he expected at least this level of competence from someone who could slice through their security system. He was also pleased that the stranger didn't insist on knowing further details... But then again, he already referred to Harrow as Viren's friend in the message; the implication that he knew far more than necessary was an uncomfortable itch at the back of Viren's mind that he had to ignore for the sake of getting the job done.

"Is there something you wish to know before we begin?" the man asked presently.

It was very haughty for him to assume he already got the job, but to his own irritation Viren realised he had no reason to let this one go in favour of another hitman. As for questions, he had plenty: how did the stranger manage to send a message directly to Viren; how did he find out about Harrow and the details of the assassination plan. Could he find out more? But there was one thing that intrigued him more than all of the above.

"Who... Who exactly are you?"

The stranger had the audacity to laugh over the rim of his mug.

"My name will tell you nothing."

"I want to know it regardless," Viren insisted, momentarily angered by the man's flippant attitude.

"Let's say I will humour you," the stranger echoed Viren's own words from a moment ago. "My name is Aaravos."

Viren felt a sudden tension in his whole body, as if someone put iron clamps on his chest and limbs. _My name will tell you nothing_ my ass!

Aaravos of the Black Star was a legend. More diligent than death itself and with a penchant for creative executions, he was the sole reason for his clan's rise to power within and outside the Triad. Equally feared and exalted by the Black Star allies and enemies. A perfect assassin.

And then, a few years back, he just... disappeared. His clan quickly tumbled into ruin, all but wiped out by the vengeful members of the Triad who finally stood a chance against their power. If there was anyone in the know of Aaravos' whereabouts at that time, they were most likely already dead.

To think that the grim reaper himself would rise from the grave to assist Viren seemed... unreal. Highly dangerous, too. But was Viren in any position to say no?

He decided the best way to go about it was to remain calm and proceed as if the person in front of him was nothing but an ordinary, well-trained hitman.

"I suppose you'd like some advancement on the contract, for initial expenses and the like. Let's go over it now, shall we?"


	5. "Want To Watch?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaravos goes out of his way to prove that being a professional doesn't mean not having fun with what you do. Viren isn't sure he approves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Runaan.

The precinct looked like a paper cut out that someone started but forgot to finish properly. Its dark silhouette was dwarfed by the surrounding office buildings; all but a few of its windows were already pitch black at this hour, and Viren had an impression that if he focused hard enough, he would just about be able to spot Harrow hunched over his desk, illuminated by the artificial white light.

Viren was used to traversing the city at night, but something about this particular situation made it seem surreal, as if he was stuck in a dream. His old friend waiting across the street to be assassinated, isolating himself to minimize the damage like the brave fool he was. Viren watching over him like some kind of a twisted guardian angel. And Aaravos. Aaravos, death personified, silhouetted by the street lights against the backdrop of a sleepless city as he made the final preparations.

A plain sports bag by his side was already full of "useful tools": additional clips of ammunition, a sniper rifle (in case a ranged kill would be possible), binoculars and a laser scope. And many more Viren was probably better off not knowing about. At present, Aaravos was adjusting his holster and testing if the gun could get in and out with ease. The movements of his hands, the precision of slipping every item into a discrete utility belt, was mesmerizing - perhaps more so than the sight of his collarbones peeking from beneath the casually unbuttoned white shirt. Viren wasn't sure if the man was putting on a show or simply too focused on the task to realise how he looked.

"They're sending out six assassins," Aaravos spoke up when he was finally satisfied with his preparations. "They're very diligent - must be a high bidder."

"Whoever they are, they'll soon learn their place," Viren sneered.

This remark earned him a gleeful smile. Then Aaravos took something previously left on their makeshift table and reached out to demonstrate. The object looked like a miniature camera.

"What's that for?"

"You seem like an admirer of fine craftsmanship," Aaravos explained while looking him over with an unreadable expression, "so I thought you might be tempted to observe my work more intimately."

Viren bristled. What was Aaravos taking him for, a seeker of cheap thrills? There might have been people out there enjoying the sight of blood and guts up close, but if it wasn't an efficient solution, it did not interest Viren in the slightest.

"I appreciate a job well done," he answered curtly, "not useless carnage. I shall pass on your generous offer."

Another smile, as if Viren just aced some secret test of character. He wasn't sure if he appreciated the hitman's cocky attitude, but said nothing.

"My apologies. In that case, would you at least allow me the pleasure of hearing your voice? I could use some help with the monitoring," Aaravos pointed to the laptop screen with a cross-section of camera feeds. "And besides, missions like these tend to get lonely."

"Won't that be distracting?"

"Only if you make it so, your Lordship."

The meaning of these words wasn't entirely clear in Viren's mind, but he decided not to engage in verbal sparring - they had more important things to do. He gingerly placed the offered device over the shell of his ear and looked to the laptop display. He knew Aaravos was capable of hacking more advanced systems, but the ease with which he accessed the security cameras at the precinct was astonishing, especially viewed firsthand. He would make a terrifying enemy, Viren realised, the hair on the nape of his neck rising in alarm.

"How do I look?"

The deep voice suddenly murmuring directly into his ear made him shiver. He turned around and blinked.

The metamorphosis was remarkable. Even among so many unreal visions of the night, the fact that someone like Aaravos could look a spitting image of a plain, forgettable police officer, stood out as particularly irrational. So much so that Viren had to consciously stop himself from taking the hat off the man's head to make sure he didn't swap places with someone else while Viren wasn't looking.

"It is... satisfactory," he said instead. "You best be on your way, though."

"As you wish, my Lord."

*******

There was a long silence in the earpiece and if Viren didn't have CCTV footage on hand, he'd think Aaravos bailed out on him. But there he was: just another tired officer returning after a long day of patrolling the city or other equally mundane duties. Viren was mildly bothered by the fact that the hitman decided to just waltz in through the main door instead of opting for a stealthier entrance, perhaps closer to where Harrow's assailants were likely to lurk in the shadows, but he did his best to assume the person he was dealing with was a man of competence.

An assumption that was immediately crushed by the shrill voice of the metal detector the moment Aaravos crossed the precinct's threshold. Viren frantically scrolled through the feeds, looking for visuals while simultaneously trying to hear anything through the ringing in his ear. Finally, he managed to discern a familiar voice:

"... it's been a tough day, that's all," Aaravos chuckled sheepishly at whoever was in the lobby. Viren strained to hear their answer, but the device's reach fell short.

"I'll just pop over to my desk real quick, all right? Chief inspector will have me skinned if the report won't be at his desk first thing in the morning," Aaravos continued with his little charade. Then, after what Viren could only assume was a reply: "He's here? Really? Man, he should get a life... His usual spot?" Another answer. "Sure. Thanks man, I owe you."

The right camera view popped up on the laptop screen just in time to catch a glimpse of Aaravos disappearing in the upper right corner. Viren counted to ten in his head to make sure the man on the other end of the line was at a safe distance to talk.

"What the _hell_ was that?" he seethed into the earpiece.

"Part of the plan," Aaravos answered, his voice ringing with glee that made Viren's stomach churn. As ridiculous as it was, he could almost envision the hitman going through the deserted corridors with a happy skip in his step. This was decidedly not how he imagined this night to unfold.

Although, he had to admit, there was something refreshing in that sort of approach.

"You said you wanted company, but I fail to see what we could talk about on this occasion," he said out loud, trying to keep up with the camera feeds.

"Everything. Anything at all, really. You never answered how you liked me in the uniform, for example. In detail, please."

This caught Viren off guard. While preferable to questions about the inner workings of the organisation or, even worse, Viren's private affairs, it nevertheless teetered on the edge of extremely thin ice. Rather than an "anything-everything", it felt like Aaravos was very deliberately fishing for compliments. Or... flirting?

"The jacket and the hat make you look surprisingly plain," he answered truthfully.

"And if I lose them?"

"Please hold onto them until you're out of the building at least." Just because one of his insane ideas worked didn't mean the other ones would.

Viren's ear was once again treated to Aaravos' chuckle, but this time it seemed far more genuine. It sent a not entirely unpleasant tingling down Viren's spine, but he decided to push it away and focus on the screens.

"I see someone in the open area ahead of you," he said dryly.

"Much obliged."

There was a long moment of silence again. Against his better judgement, Viren's eyes were glued to the camera feeds - the middle right trained on the assassin, the bottom left harbouring a suggestion of Aaravos' presence near one of the edges. Then, as if in some bizarre game of dominoes, a movement on the left caused the person on the right to fall down to the ground. For a moment Viren thought they were dead, but when the feed refreshed, there was still signs of movement, along with a growing puddle of blood around one of the legs. The earpiece picked up a low, satisfied hum.

"You were supposed to get rid of them."

"Everything in its own time. You are very impatient, your Lordship."

"Time is of essence here," Viren reminded, still glancing at the writhing assassin. Suddenly, Aaravos appeared in the same screen. He wasn't holding a pistol, but something was definitely between his hands. Viren remembered a silvery string he saw tucked in Aaravos' utility belt. "Do we really have time for that?"

"I'm not telling you how to do your job, do I?" Aaravos said, but there was laughter in his voice, almost drowning the echoes of the person beneath him being choked to death. "This won't take much longer."

"I should think so," Viren sat down and sighed. His leg was giving him a hard time tonight.

Despite the rough start, their conversation continued, with some intermissions when Aaravos actually needed to focus. Neither of them was particularly keen on revealing vital information, but the back and forth was enjoyable and kept Viren awake. It also gave him something to focus on other than the insistent throbbing of his mangled leg muscles.

But of course the injury had to have its way with him in the end. He was just about to quip Aaravos had too much fun with the mission after he heard him singing while stuffing a corpse in the evidence freezer ("put him in a box"? really?), when a jolt of excruciating pain shot up his spine, bending him in half with a loud hiss.

"Leg?" he heard when the pain subsided. Aaravos didn't seem concerned, merely curious.

"Yeah."

"Let's hear about it."

Whatever Aaravos was expecting, he was in for a disappointment. The story behind Viren's injury was actually as mundane as it got - Viren had been driving uptown after a private errand and got in the way of a someone road-raging through the intersection. His leg got the worst of it, twisted at an awkward angle and trapped by the interior dent until the ambulance arrived at the scene. Other injuries and bruises healed fast, but the muscles never recovered, making the walking cane a necessity for most likely the rest of Viren's life. All in all, nothing to write home about. But since they _were_ getting personal...

"What about you? Where were you for the past... six years, was it?" Viren asked, eyeing the feed that for once showed Aaravos not hovering at the edge of the camera's blind spot.

"I-" the voice in the earpiece stuttered as the figure on screen froze mid-step. "I don't know."

"How's that even-"

The camera feed went blank, as if something happened to the device. Before Viren managed to let Aaravos know, his ear filled with an undistinguishable noise before going blank as well.

Ignoring his leg, Viren sprung from the chair and all but ran up to the closest window. The corridor he lost Aaravos in was one of the lit ones, so if he could only locate it, he'd be able to catch at least a glimpse of the situation. He cursed himself for not accepting the offer of a "private" camera feed; at least that way he'd know what was happening.

Before he managed to spot any commotion in the building opposite, the earpiece came back to life with a series of soft taps.

"Aara- Are you all right?"

For a moment there was just laboured breathing on the other end and something at the back of Viren's head told him he spoke up too soon. When he finally heard a familiar, if slightly out-of-breath, chuckle, he felt his whole body relax - and in that same moment, his eyes focused on what could only be Aaravos, looking back at him from the other building.

"Pardon the hitch, your Lordship. We're still on track."

"I can see that. Best get moving, then."

He got back to the laptop just in time to spot the fifth assassin moving through the screens towards the final destination - with Aaravos tailing him from one blind spot to another, as if the situation from seconds ago never happened. He was perfectly silent, too - the only thing Viren could hear in the earpiece now was soft breathing. It seemed like his hitman finally dropped the theatrics and was going in for the kill in earnest - about time, too, as the killer was nearing the door to Harrow's office...

And shortly after became a rather fetching doormat at its foot - at least according to the voice in Viren's ear.

"Are you done with the gloating? Someone might notice you." Viren's fingers flexed on instinct, searching for something to get occupied with.

"We got everything under control, I'll just-aan? Hey, do you copy? Answer me, what's going on in there-and be out before they even notice."

Viren tapped on the earpiece. Clearly an interference, but where was it coming from? The device worked perfectly fine until a few seconds ago.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear wha-think I heard a voice from this direction. Checking... Come on, Runaan, answer me!"

This time the unknown voice had a soft echo, as if it was coming from two places at once. The cane found its way into Viren's hand before he even thought about it.

The sound in the earpiece blurred and simmered with interference, stronger with each step he took towards the door. Viren was still a few steps away when the rusty hinges swung open and in stormed what could only be the missing sixth assassin.

In hindsight, they should've considered themselves lucky to end up in the abandoned building and not across the street - unlike Aaravos, Viren didn't like toying with his prey unless it was strictly necessary to make a point. It only took a few expert swings to have the assailant unconscious on the ground. With a final stomp of the cane Viren took care of the interference as well.

"This night just doesn't want to end," he sighed in lieu of explaining the situation.

"Do you want me to get back and dispose of her?"

"Killing won't be necessary," Viren murmured, rolling the unconscious assassin over with his foot. Sure enough, it was a girl. Rather young, too... Or maybe just youthful. "She saw me but I don't think she realised who I was. If she's left alive, she'll have to report to the ones that ordered the assassination. Think of it as leaving a memo." Whoever ordered the attack, they were sure to recognize Viren even from a vague description - and know to keep their hands off Harrow for good if they wanted to keep their limbs intact. "How much time do you need to get out of there?"

"Not much. But for safety's sake let's treat our little hideout as compromised. I'll take care of cleaning up and see you at the meeting point."

Viren nodded, not caring that Aaravos couldn't see what he was doing. Moments later, his earpiece shared the fate of the one belonging to the assassin. The office became completely empty once again, not counting the unconscious girl on the floor, illuminated by the laptop screen, camera feeds slowly blinking out of existence.


	6. Neon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For every moment of tension, there's a moment of release - and many interesting things can happen when you go undercover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first bit of this chapter is dedicated to all the brave crazy people in the fandom - I don't ship what you ship, but your courage is inspiring. Rock on!
> 
> In other news, there will be another small gap between this update and the next, since I'll be AFK until the weekend.
> 
> And finally, much love to Lysander over at twitter for [gracing me with Aaravos fanart](https://twitter.com/shinigami_joyce/status/1122924664173539330) ♥

After the silence of the night, the blare of music felt like a punch to the gut. The club had neither a dancefloor, nor proper acoustic, so everything beyond the heavy steel door blurred into a barely distinguishable slush of strobe lights and bad life choices.

Against that backdrop Viren stood out like a sore thumb. With glasses on and hair down, he looked like a university lecturer who took the wrong turn on his way back from a seminar on something equally dull as the colour of his cheap, off-brand jacket. He did his best to act the part, too, keeping to the sidelines with a drink that, thank God, didn't look (or smell) like piss. He really hoped whatever Aaravos planned on doing, he'd make a quick job of it. They still had to discuss some details before going their separate ways.

"Yeah, this place sucks."

It took Viren a good moment to realise that whoever spoke up over the noise was talking to him specifically. He raised his head to meet a pair of twinkling eyes that might've been blue. This certainly wasn't Aaravos.

"Say," the stranger spoke up again, visibly glad that his efforts had been noted, "I think you're new in here. Want me to show you around? Make this shithole a bit less, you know, shitty for the both of us?"

Viren resisted the urge to either down his drink in one gulp or let it go to hide his face in both hands. Was this runt actually flirting with him? His bravado certainly struggled to make up for the lack of brain, but even such brash carelessness should have its limits.

"I'm not interested," Viren answered as gruffly as possible. Predictably, it didn't work.

"Ugh, too much? Sorry. I'm sort of bad at these things."

"So I've noticed."

"But hey, how about you give me another chance? I can do way better than that."

Viren sent the pestering idiot a half-hearted glare over his glass. Whatever this guy was trying to accomplish, he was failing miserably. Of course he couldn't know that a large part of that was due to his angular jaw and blond dye job that gave Viren an uncanny impression he was being seduced by an older, less dressed version of his own son. That overlap alone made him more than vaguely uncomfortable even without the atrocious flirting.

"I'm waiting for someone," it cost him a lot to not abandon his persona and just knock the guy out with his cheap drink glass.

"Duh. I'm only saying we could make the wait nicer," before Viren caught on, there was a hand curled under his chin, broad thumb grazing the corner of his lips. "I'm sure they won't mind."

"And how would you know that, I wonder?"

What surprised Viren was not the fact that the grip around his waist was suddenly _there_ , but rather the fact that it didn't feel at all invasive. If he had to be perfectly honest with himself, he almost welcomed it and the by now familiar voice ringing so close to his ear. Aaravos' other hand extracted the glass with half-finished drink and handed it over to the blond kid with so much confidence he had no choice but to take it.

"Uh. Huh. Guess that's your ride..." He wore the baffled look of someone who was chasing a rabbit and ended up face to face with a hungry tiger. Squeezing the glass, he backed away slowly, all the time keeping eye contact with Aaravos, as if he just couldn't tear his eyes away. "You know... eh... You don't have to spend the whole night with the same person, right?"

"Brave idiot. You know him?" Aaravos asked pleasantly when they were finally left to their own devices.

"What? No!"

He turned towards Aaravos so fast, his neck nearly suffered from whiplash. Something must've gone sideways in his head in the process anyway, because the sight he saw could not be real. Not the tight, form-hugging jeans, nor the shirt that barely reached the end of the man's ribcage... definitely not the soft glimmer his skin gave off with every movement of the lights. For a moment Viren wasn't even sure if he was looking at a person he had ever met before - but the hitman's voice was unmistakeable.

"He seemed like your type," Aaravos smirked, moving closer and pressing Viren against the pillar he was previously leaning on.

"Is this... really necessary?" Viren huffed, trying not to think too much about how nicely the man's body was framing his own. They were here for business, not for pleasure. "About the rest of your payment..."

"Yes, about that. I'd like to propose a change to the original agreement."

Viren felt his stomach drop. Was he too careless? No, that wasn't it - he had already seen Aaravos in action and his life was safe for now. But the thought that the organisation's money was in danger instead made his jaw clench.

"If you want more than what we agreed on, I need to disappoint you. You won't get anything more out of me," his tone was level, but it took a lot of effort to keep it that way. If there was something Viren truly hated, it was making a fool of himself.

To his even greater annoyance, Aaravos burst out laughing, bowing his head so that the loose strands of his hair brushed against Viren's skin. When he looked up, his face seemed much closer than Viren remembered.

"You'll be relieved that, money-wise at least, I'd like to ask you for less. Far less. Actually, I'm willing to take nothing at all, as long as you give me something else."

"Would you spit it out already? What do you want?"

"You."

Viren had no answer for that. Just more questions.

"Why?"

"You're interesting to be around," the pressure on Viren's body increased, glitter-covered arms on both sides of his head preventing him from looking anywhere but directly at Aaravos. "I won't lie, there's something else I need you for as well. But let's leave that for later. For now I'd suggest acting more involved, lest your knight in spray-tanned armour decides to save the day again."

Some part of Viren's brain was alarmed at what he just heard (the likes of Aaravos rarely "needed" someone without serious risks), but the part currently in control could focus only on the heat and the ghost of a warm breath hanging between their lips. In a situation like this he didn't have to be told to get engaged twice - his hands moved along Aaravos' sides to grab a hold of his ass, pleasantly surprised to find the material thinner than it looked from a distance.

Not that there was much distance to speak of.

"Let's say I agree to hear you out," he breathed against Aaravos' ear. Two could play that game. "And you'll stick around to explain everything. In detail."

If only he'd been ten years younger, Viren mused idly as he felt the other man smile against his neck, and free of the feeling of impending doom looming at the corners of his mind. The wouldn't have to play at disguises in dinghy clubs somewhere on the outskirts. No, they'd move their negotiations to the finest venue, to a private lounge shrouded in cigarette smoke, with the music coming in from a distance, like white noise from a broken TV. Instead of hasty pretend-makeouts, hands barely reaching the skin under their clothes, Viren could enjoy unwrapping Aaravos at his own pace, picking him apart on a cushioned sofa, letting the man slide the shirt off his shoulders in return and leave a trail of bite marks going well below the hem of Viren's pants. He wouldn't just stand idly, hoping his leg won't give, either; even as he felt the pillar behind him digging into his spine, he could imagine white traces surging like shooting stars across Aaravos' abdomen, Viren's bites and scratches blooming like nebulas against the dark skin...

But for everything he couldn't get, he had this. Aaravos' body, lithe and warm, pressing against him, nails digging into his back through the cheap white shirt; his other hand clasped firmly against the back of Viren's neck, thumb caressing the mussed hairline. Viren's own hands still digging into the firm curve of Aaravos' ass, making the man moan softly into their open-mouthed kisses, already turning hot, wet and sloppy. It had been a long night, one of many long nights in Viren's life, but for once he didn't exactly mind making it last a little longer.

After all, for the time being at least, nothing stood in their way. That alone called for a celebration.


	7. A Bluff Is A Bluff Is A Bluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For every action there is a reaction - but some reactions need an extra push to actually happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, surprise - welcome to part one of the triple update! I've been hard at work these past few days and decided that it's high time to speed things up and bring them to an end.
> 
> Since I'm also celebrating the sixth(!) anniversary of my relationship, consider this my gift to you - spreading the love and all that.
> 
> And as usual, thanks for all the comments so far! They mean a lot and make my days brigher ♥

The thing about secrets, even the ones most firmly guarded, is that some of the information eventually finds its way out into the open. Which is why Viren made sure that the unavoidable leak worked in his favour.

The spread of rumours about him miraculously avoiding assassination proved that the lone survivor of the group targeting Harrow acted according to Viren's plan. It also provided a convenient excuse for introducing another bodyguard to his inner circle of subordinates. Aaravos, to his credit, blended in perfectly - a silent, menacing shadow at Viren's side. If anyone wanted to voice objections to the new order of things, they were too afraid to do it.

(And if they noticed the way Viren glanced at the other man as he was occupied with work, they had enough self-preservation instinct to say nothing.)

It came as a certain surprise that one of the people most disturbed by Viren's latest actions was Fixer. Someone with less insight would dismiss that as her feeling threatened by the new favourite of the boss, especially taking into account how snappy she was around Aaravos in particular. But Viren knew that Fixer didn't tie her self-worth to their work relations and was perfectly aware of her own capabilities and strengths.

What she was also aware of, if partially, was Viren's little run-in with Harrow, which automatically placed her under closer observation. In theory at least. Viren attempted to confront her about that night and her recent behaviour in private, but Fixer constantly gave him the slip, finding excuses in things that the organisation needed that absolutely could not wait. But in all her actions she seemed... directionless, in that peculiar way that manifests in getting absorbed in several tasks at once, jumping from one to another at a moment's notice.

As if she had to coordinate many things at the same time, for whatever reason.

He finally caught up with her as she was dispatching the cleaners to deal with some minor altercation at the edge of the organisation's turf. She almost gave him a slip again, excusing herself with some urgent business, but Viren had none of that.

"Is there something bothering you lately?" he asked, sounding as composed as ever. He wasn't exactly willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, but she still was one of his most capable people.

He half-expected the flood gates to open, but Fixer remained defiantly quiet. Viren, too busy to tolerate such childish behaviour from one of his most prized subordinates, spoke up again:

"May I remind you that when the organisation merged with your gang, we have struck a certain deal. Where I go, you follow. I draw a plan, you sort out the minutia so that everything works in our favour. If you have any comments as to what could be improved in our current state of affairs, it is absolutely within your scope to point it out."

More silence, this time annoyed rather than purely defiant. Wherever this lead, Viren was slowly getting there.

Finally, Fixer mumbled something that came across as "you shouldn't have brought him in". Whether she meant Harrow or Aaravos was unclear, but it didn't matter. Viren rested both hands on the table.

"Is that all you have to say? Because that's not enough." He looked at her expecting more and getting nothing but a glare in return. "In that case may I remind you that you're here to _fix_ things, not pass hollow judgements."

He waited for a moment to let that sink in, then waved her off.

*******

"I want you to find me everything on Fixer. The sooner, the better."

Aaravos laughed, a short sharp noise behind Viren's back.

"Not the trusting type, I see."

"Of course. In case you never noticed, I don't trust anyone. Yourself included."

The hitman didn't seem surprised in the slightest, which in turn saved Viren a lot of additional trouble. With a nod he turned and left the room, a knowing smirk never quite leaving his lips.

Viren didn't lie when he said he didn't trust Aaravos. When it came to business, a moment of closeness, no matter how intense, was meaningless... Or so he wanted to think, in spite of the many moments he caught himself reminiscing about the touch that felt like electricity coursing through his veins. As long as he didn't let these stray thoughts control his actions, he was safe.

With both Fixer and Aaravos out of the way, for the time being at least, Viren could finally have a moment of peace to collect his thoughts. For the longest time he sensed something wasn't right with the whole situation, but he had been so caught up in it that his judgement lacked the necessary distance.

In the days after the failed assassination Viren kept a close ear on Harrow's affairs - but apart from the initial shock at finding five mutilated corpses inside the precinct, his life seemed to have returned to normal. Harrow was going through his daily life without a hitch, if you didn't count arranging a new babysitter for Ezran, rescheduling movie nights with friends, and an occasional silent call. No anonymous threats, no further assassination attempts. Which was downright bizarre if previously the people who wanted him dead hired a team of top hitmen on the market. It was unlikely they suddenly changed their minds or ran out of money. Which meant only one thing: Harrow wasn't the real target; he was used to get back at someone else.

Viren could make a fairly educated guess as to who _that_ was.

So far, so good, but the puzzle became more tricky at the stage of "who" and "why". The pool of candidates was fairly limited, but their motives could not be less clear. To most members of the organisation, Harrow was just another contact the higher ups could use when planning an operation. Only the people present at the safehouse during his "recruitment" could figure out the existence of a deeper connection between him and Viren. Out of these only one or two could actually do something with that knowledge. Fixer was the obvious suspect, but dethroning Viren would not benefit her in the slightest - she didn't have enough influence to prevent infighting as a new leader and didn't lack authority in a degree that could left her wanting more in the first place. Going against Viren would be a losing game. That left the head of the cleaners team, who could have the motive but certainly not the means, and the janitor - someone surprisingly dangerous for his happy-go-lucky attitude, but ultimately a person who wouldn't be able to keep a plot secret even if he didn't know anything about its existence.

Then there was of course Aaravos - a walking legend appearing out of nowhere and all too eager to serve. Contrary to what he might've been thinking, his good looks weren't enough to make Viren forget about his mysterious "plans".

Viren sighed and downed the rest of the (already cold) coffee. Against his better judgement, he just wanted something to finally give. The mind-numbing stasis was gritting on his nerves more than anything fate could possibly throw his way.

*******

The sound of the alarm was barely audible, so much so that it took a lull in their conversation for Viren to notice. Once he had, though, he felt blood drain from his face. Grip tightening on the table, he flicked through the screens, looking for answers.

Extensive security breach in the HQ perimeter. Police surrounding the area. Gate down.

"Fuck."

All he got for an answer was Aaravos' raised eyebrow.

"They're onto us," he clarified, voice eerily calm even to his own ears. The intrusion might've been sudden, but not unplanned for. Viren's mind worked at full throttle, going through the emergency procedures as if they were a simple grocery list. Scatter frequencies; store vital data; remotely purge all devices. Click by click, the organisation was slithering away from the intruders.

"Which gate?"

"As if that even-"

Viren's finger twitched over the touchpad. That was an oddly specific question. The kind that Aaravos never bothered with - unless the answer served some kind of purpose. Viren swallowed hard and felt sweat rolling down his back. He had been fooled.

"You. You betrayed me," he glared at the assassin who had the cheek to remain calm amongst the rising madness.

Aaravos looked at him in mock surprise, then burst out laughing. Viren could honestly strangle him but a part of him that was terrified of the mess he got himself into kept his body firmly in place. When the laughter subsided, Aaravos shook his head, strands of hair escaping the loose knot at the back.

"Betrayal? I'd rather think about it as a trial of love."

" _Love?_ " Viren choked on the word. "You're insane!"

"That may be so. But wouldn't it be better to discuss my mental faculties in a quieter place?"

When Viren didn't react immediately, Aaravos cocked an eyebrow and gently flicked the tip of his own ear. It was then that Viren realised that what he had previously thought to be the roar of his own adrenaline-infused blood was actually the headquarters alarm blearing full-force across the corridors.


	8. Bloody Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't how things were supposed to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAUTION: while I didn't put it up in the tags, this chapter contains scenes that could potentially be read as dubcon; while I personally don't see them as such (hence no warning), I fully acknowledge that someone else might find them out of their comfort zone. In other words, proceed with caution.

The room was so narrow it could be crossed in less than four steps and the additional width of it was entirely occupied by a single bed. A side door, left ajar, led to a microscopic bathroom. The furniture were sparse and covered in a thick layer of dust and grime. Just as well - at least it meant that nobody besides Viren entered the place... Up to this point, obviously.

Producing a handkerchief from the coat's inner pocket, Viren cleaned up the blood from his knuckles, grimacing as he noticed some of it stained the cuff. The homeless who had been foolish enough to ask him for change would have to be disposed of later. There were more pressing matters Viren had to attend to.

"I want you to understand," he said, not even looking at Aaravos, "that the only reason that you're here and not bleeding out back in the headquarters, is that I want you to explain yourself."

It might've been too bold of him to threaten someone who killed people for a living, but frankly, he didn't care.

Aaravos was apparently willing to play along, at least for the time being.

"I aim to please," he said, bowing slightly, a suggestion of a smirk back on his lips as if it never left.

"To put it in simple terms," he began, pulling out his phone and languidly browsing... something, as if he wasn't at all in a hurry to show it, "the little emergency we found ourselves in confirms your suspicions."

Viren sighed. They didn't have a whole day to beat around the bush like that. He tried to focus on Aaravos' face, but his eyes kept sliding to his fingers, gently flicking the screen.

"You asked me to investigate your close assistant. I went one step further and tested the loyalties of your henchmen. The result was... decisive."

He smiled wider, finally finding what he was looking for and handing the device over to Viren. To his surprise it was a gallery of police record snapshots - taken, without doubt, during their memorable night at the precinct. As he was browsing through the increasingly familiar faces, Aaravos continued with his narration, voice still annoyingly relaxed.

"A small suggestion of the system's weakness, different one for each outpost. All it took afterwards was to sit back and observe which link in the chain rots away first. Child's play."

Dispersed evenly across the middle of the organisation's ranks. Not high enough to have all their moves questioned; not low enough so that they were able to have some degree of influence. Viren held the phone steadily as he went from one photograph to another. The janitor. Three of the cleaners. Assistant to the head mediator. And finally...

Viren knew who waited for him at the end of this long display. Contrary to what his glaringly apparent failure suggested, he was not stupid and could connect the dots. Every single person he had seen so far was either recruited by or connected to a single person. Her face wasn't a surprise. The rest of her file was a completely different story. Viren could feel Aaravos' gaze resting heavily on him, he could feel his own fingers curling tighter around the phone, threatening to shatter the screen.

This explained a lot.

Mostly the fact that, when Viren first met her, Harrow's wife didn't just seem perfect - she seemed _familiar_. In her looks, her attitude, even in the movement of her hands as she spoke.

Now that he knew both sisters - Sarai the lawyer and Amaya the police deputy - it was hard to overlook these similarities.

Aaravos might have said something at this point, but Viren caught none of it. All of his thoughts were wrapping around one question, coiling around it like snakes about to sink their teeth in a vulnerable prey. _Did Harrow know about this?_ Was he out of the loop or did he actually authorise every single movement of this operation?

While everything pointed towards the latter, a foolish part of him clung to the impossible. He knew that in spite of the flow of time some things had remained unchanged in his old friend; when he looked at him he could still see his youthful brashness and straightforward attitude shining through. He felt, against his better reason, that even knowing Viren's circumstances, Harrow would be unable to sell him out in cold blood - not without somehow betraying his intentions.

_If you ever feel like this... life is not for you anymore, or you're in over your head, I just want you to know that I'm here for you._

No, this wasn't the way Harrow worked at all. He didn't play deceptions and double-edged swords - what made him dangerous was his unwavering faith in the inherent goodness of people. A belief that pushed him to seek other people's happiness in their stead, in the shape and form Harrow himself deemed appropriate. The realisation that his old friend, that noble fool, attempted to raze Viren's empire to the ground out of the goodness of his heart left Viren feeling hollow. And he would've remained in that state for who knows how long if he didn't catch some movement by the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" He croaked out.

Aaravos turned towards him, face a perfectly unreadable mask.

"You didn't seem inclined to form any sort of plan, so it seemed appropriate to leave you to your mundane dramas," he answered in a monotone, hand resting on the door handle.

"Pardon?"

"In simple terms, you stopped being interesting. Bit of a waste, if you ask me."

The blade sunk in the door besides Aaravos' head before he so much as moved a muscle in his hand. He blinked with mild interest, then looked at Viren again.

"Cane blade. Charming."

Viren was not in the mood for any more of this insolence.

"You ask for a plan as if you deserve to know what my plans are in the first place." He stepped closer, sliding his hand along the cane, until they were standing face to face. "Do not take me for a cheap thug. The plan? The plan is _always_ in motion and nobody - not Harrow, not a bunch of traitors, not even you - can make the fruit of my work crumble into pieces. You won't see _me_ crumble into pieces."

For a moment Aaravos went completely motionless. He didn't speak, didn't breathe, he was just... watching. Then, with a slow blink, his face stretched out into a smile that was positively predatory.

"Ah," he murmured, voice deep and sweet. "And there I thought all was lost. But here he is back again. The one I want to serve."

The roar of blood in Viren's ears was almost deafening.

"If you want to serve me, kneel."

Viren's breath was steady when he pushed Aaravos to his knees with his free hand, the other still clutching at the cane blade. The man didn't resist, hands and mouth immediately at work, moving so deftly Viren didn't need to instruct him at all. A true professional.

The street light outside the window blinked in and out of existence, cutting the scenes before Viren's eyes into short, disconnected fragments. Aaravos swallowing him whole, Viren's hand tangled in his hair, deepening each thrust well beyond what should be possible to take. Aaravos teasing the tip of his cock, looking up, daring Viren to force him down again. Aaravos splayed on the bed, ready to be disciplined for his attitude. Aaravos gasping desperately, hands clawing at the sheets as Viren sunk deep inside him, not even bothering with preparations; his back a beautiful arch, Viren yanking his head back by the hair, already matted down by sweat, then going on to grab him by the chin, preventing him from muffling the screams against the pillow. Each thrust, each shiver made the old bed creak with effort; the air thick with moans and laboured breathing. Viren felt the salty taste of Aaravos' skin on his tongue as he was biting down on the man's shoulder, the tension building up in his body, as he forced himself to hold on longer, to split the man beneath him apart completely.

The street light blinked.

A cloud of dust surrounded Viren as his back hit the mattress unexpectedly. Above him stretched the wide expanse of Aaravos' skin - dark and radiating heat, beads of sweat glistening like some otherworldly constellations. They were both hard, both panting, both driven almost to the edge. Viren searched Aaravos' face, looking for answers. The man said nothing, but in his eyes Viren saw everything he needed to know - lust mixed with a sense of purpose. A question that hung between them felt more like stating a fact.

_Do you trust me?_

He didn't - but when did that ever stop them.

If he could think at all, he'd think Aaravos was getting back at him. His thrusts were brutal, his hands scratching mercilessly, drawing blood from every part of Viren's body he could reach, mouth following suit, nearly ripping Viren's throat apart. The pain pushed all air out of his lungs, but he could only tell he was screaming by the distant sensation of his jaw muscles spasming. It was intense, overwhelming, pushing every coherent thought out of Viren's mind, leaving only the raw want for more. Aaravos could've cut him open and dragged his insides out and Viren's hips would still snap in the same maddening rhythm - clinging, craving, _demanding_ \- until they'd both be spent and boneless, blood and sweat sinking into the crumpled sheets.

The street light blinked its last, then went out for good.

*******

Aaravos brought him the first aid kit from the cupboard, then proceeded to wrap the sheets in a neat bundle. Viren was vaguely aware of his ministrations as he tried to tend to the worst of his wounds. His back felt like a gaping, bloody hole and he wasn't sure if there was enough bandages to cover even half of the mess Aaravos made. Means to an end, he supposed. He could really use a cigarette for all that effort, though.

Sufficient amounts of genetic material and a sensational, if undignified, cover-up story: After leaving his empire to crumble, the crime lord indulged himself to an end-of-the world orgy and all was fine and well until the whore he was fucking - or who fucked him, who cares - had enough. A spat became a fight and in the end the whole place went up in flames. Oh, how the great have fallen.

Of course in time the smarter people involved would discover the truth behind their smoke and mirrors game, but by then it would've already served its purpose. After all, Viren needed to just get away - he'd hate to give the impression that such a minor bump on the road could completely derail his life's work.

Somehow, he managed to make the most of the first aid kit supplies and patch himself up enough to put on the shirt without staining it any further. He needed a change of clothes, but that could wait. For some unknown reason, in this moment Viren felt like he suddenly had all the time in the world at his disposal.

The bed behind him creaked - the only warning before his whole body flared up in pain as Aaravos pressed himself firmly against his back. Viren's loud hiss didn't seem to deter him.

"I'll be heading off to deliver our little care package," he murmured close to Viren's ear like a satisfied cat. "I think I'll take our homeless friend along for the ride."

"Do what you must, just do it quick," Viren shifted so that his back was away from Aaravos, while his neck rested against the man's shoulder. "If you find anyone in the safehouse, they're free game."

He felt Aaravos' body reverberate with a soft chuckle, a thing he had become all too familiar with over the past few days. He could feel blood seeping through the bandages and something being pressed into his hand. Cigarettes, a pocket lighter hidden inside the package.

"Join me once you're done."

Before Viren managed to answer, Aaravos was gone. He hunched on the bed, looking through the darkened window as he thumbed a cigarette out of the box.


	9. Into The Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Viren it all started with an unexpected reunion - there's something right about ending what seemed like one very long night with a goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I actually made it to the end. Wow.
> 
> I based Viren's wife name on what little we know about her canon homeland - that is, their king looks like a Viking. As for the songs that play on the radio... Guess.

"Dad, you promised you'd quit smoking!"

Viren's lips quirked in an apologetic smile. If there was one person in the whole world who could make him feel guilty about something, it was definitely Claudia.

"Put something on, it's freezing," he said, noting that Claudia was apparently on her way to bed - the dinosaur slippers were a dead giveaway. "Are your mother and Soren at home?"

"Soren is at the fencing camp, won't be back until next week. Mum is... I think she's still in the shower." Something must've changed in Viren's expression, causing Claudia's smile to falter. "Is everything all right?"

He wasn't sure what to tell her. Or rather, how much to tell her. Viren's whole family knew about the organisation, of course - it would be downright irresponsible to keep them in the dark. Unfortunately, this knowledge came with certain consequences - the most serious of them being Viren and his wife parting ways to isolate children from their father's "bad habits" after Claudia had been caught red-handed preparing illegal substances in the school lab ("I just wanted to help you out, dad!" she explained once they arrived home). In spite of it all, Viren's family relations remained quite healthy. Which is why he was standing on their stairs right now, in the middle of the night, with a safehouse full of corpses burning down several blocks away.

He'd really hate himself if he'd have left without a proper goodbye.

"I won't be around for a bit," he said frankly. No use lying at this point - but he could at least spare Claudia the details.

"Does mum know?"

"She's about to learn," Viren sent another crooked smile over Claudia's shoulder.

"And you're about to catch a cold," Signe chided her daughter, emerging from the doorway. "Get inside!"

Claudia rolled her eyes and begrudgingly obeyed - but not without running out into the street first to crush Viren's ribs in a hug. She winked at her mother's sour face and kissed her on the cheek on her way back inside.

"So," Signe leaned against the doorframe, a cup of steaming tea cradled in both hands, "you finally messed something up and you're skipping the country."

"Not just town?"

"Didn't want to undersell you," she explained with a playful glint in her eyes that went out as soon as it appeared. "Will you be gone for long?"

Viren scratched the back of his neck and sighed.

"Hard to say. Listen. You all should be safe, but just in case something crops up..."

He quickly jotted down Harrow's private number on a piece of paper and handed it over. Signe put it in her gown's pocket without checking - Viren's trust in this mysterious person was apparently enough for her.

They stood outside in silence for a moment, sharing a look of two people whose love was not stronger than their circumstances. Viren looked away first.

"Tell Soren I said hi."

"I will. But once you're back, make sure to tell him yourself. He misses you."

"I- I know that," he shuffled awkwardly.

Signe made a noise that could have been a muffled laugh and stepped back inside.

"Go on, now. It's cold. And you don't want to keep whoever's in your car waiting."

Sometimes it almost frightened Viren just how well his ex-wife knew him.

*******

When he returned to the car, Aaravos was lounging in the passenger seat, idly browsing through the radio stations. Viren recognised snippets of classic rock, an aria, some kind of female singer with a throaty voice. The dial finally stopped moving and the car was filled with the first tunes that reminded Viren about their encounter in the club. It felt like ages ago.

"You said you had a plan for me," Viren sat heavily behind the wheel and knocked his cigarette against the rim of the ashtray. "Let's hear it."

"I told you before that I don't know where I ended up all those years back. But I have quite a good idea as to who could enlighten me on that subject. We're going to pay them a visit. Just a small friendly reunion, if you will."

Aaravos sat up in his seat and leaned over to Viren's side.

"The thing is, if I were to dispose of the Triad, it would result in creating a void - and that's not good. So I need you to fill that void in the way that only you can manage. I'm sure I don't have to explain to you the benefits of that outcome, _your Lordship_."

Viren took the last long drag of his cigarette. He _had_ been played after all. But contrary to some people, he could appreciate the skill of the player. So instead of answering the obvious, he grabbed Aaravos by the scruff of his neck and pulled him in for a long kiss, letting the cigarette smoke swirl between their lips until the last of it disappeared in the air conditioner vent.

"Best not waste our time, then," he snuffed the cigarette butt in the ashtray, shifted gears, and headed for the exit road of the city.


End file.
